Harvest Moon: Recipe for a Farm
by Edgewind
Summary: A young man unsure of his ambitions is uprooted from his city life, thrust into the challenge of restoring the family farm when he unwittingly inherits his grandfather's dilapidated property in a distant backwater village. With no knowledge of farming, can he grow to understand the values of hard work? Can he cope without the conveniences of the city? Only time will tell.
1. Beginning of the End

**A note from your author:** I have tossed this idea around for a long time. Once upon a time, I thought to write a Harvest Moon fan-fiction. For some reason I thought it was good. Certain individuals reinforced this belief, and I dead-ended myself into a story that I really hadn't planned out. Though it started easily enough, I quickly realized I didn't know where I was taking the story and everything screeched to a sudden halt, and it was over just as quickly as it began.

I occasionally thought about plot twists and other such things but the prospect of having to build up to- and ultimately reach them, just didn't carry the same appeal. Since I didn't really have any planned course of plot leading the way in, my only option was to abandon it until such a time came when I would be able to properly convey my story.

However, my ideas and standards have changed since my first foray into fan-fiction 12 years ago and it no longer withstands my scrutiny. Therefore, I am restarting from scratch. I left the old work on the site for anyone who wonders why I don't like it and for nostalgia.

I will be taking liberties here. I'll be adding characters that do not necessarily belong, but they will be from the Harvest Moon series. There will be a more complete, expanded Flowerbud Village. I can't bring myself to deviate from the standard Season calender though.

Last but not least, I do not own any of the Harvest Moon intellectual properties, obviously, but disclaimers are pretty standard fare.

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**Chapter 1**

Beginning of the End: A New Start -Part 1

Friday, Winter 28

5:47 PM

I opened the front door of my mother's apartment and shoved it back behind me, almost slamming it shut. On most days, I am a relaxed and easy-going guy. Not today. Ohh not today. As I walked in, I tossed the car keys loudly on the island counter separating the kitchen from the den, eliciting a startled reaction from my mom. She whirled around in front of the stove to see what the ruckus was. Her dusty blond hair was still tied in the ponytail from when she got ready for work this morning. I noticed she still hadn't changed out of the white blouse and navy blue skirt she wore to work either.

"Hey, be careful!" she called out, but in my current state of mind I didn't offer her even a glance back as I walked towards my bedroom. I should know better by now not to simply ignore her, as she quickly left dinner cooking on the stove to follow me. "Shane! What's got into you today? Did something happen at your dad's?"

"Mom, I don't want to talk about it! I just want to go to my room and get my mind off of it for a while," I snapped as I reached the bedroom door. I wasted no time opening the door and closing it behind me. I sat my wallet on the dresser, grabbed the stereo remote, and sat on the corner of my bed. I heard the doorknob jiggle once; I glanced across my room at the door, but it didn't swing open. I guess she was giving me space after all, so I clicked the power button on the remote and settled on my bed to relax as the sounds of music started to drown out my problems.

My name is Shane Parker. Born on the 25th of Spring. Twenty-one years old and struggling in that critical time between high school and the rest of my life. I stand at 5' 11", weighing in at around 190 lbs. Hazel eyes and brown hair and, come to think of it, it's about time for another hair cut. I usually just have Mom buzz it all off every time it gets long enough for me to have bed hair in the morning.

My parents, David and Lisa, separated about 15 years ago and I was raised by my mom while spending summer vacations with my dad. I did well in school, not at the top of my class, but not terribly far off either. College had been something I never could make a real decision on, and none of the jobs I had worked were right for me. So here I was, still living at home.

That brings me to today. My dad offered me a job at the local shipping company he managed. A great opportunity, he called it. When I arrived, I was presented with a broom, the prospect of earning minimum wage, and laughter from the other workers there. A joke. At my expense, of course. After I informed Dad exactly where he could stick that broom, I came straight home. Little did I know that my life was about to change forever.

I heard the telephone begin to ring in the den, but I felt no concern to get up and answer it. Anyone would know to call my cell phone if they needed to get in touch with me anyway. Probably some stupid telemarketer anyway. Always calling near dinnertime. Nonetheless I heard the ambiguous, muffled sound of my mother's voice through the wall, spurring me to increase the volume on my stereo. However, to my increased dismay, there was an abrupt knock at my door. Probably my dad on the phone. Either calling to apologize or, more likely, further infuriate me. It didn't matter to me. There was nothing he could do right now that would make me care about anything he had to say.

Though I didn't really want to be disturbed, I stood and walked to the door, muting my stereo on the way. As I expected, Mom was standing at the door with the phone when I opened it, wiping her free hand on the floral-patterned apron she wore when cooking. She reached the phone to me silently, which struck me odd. I covered the transmitter with my palm and gave her a questioning glance, hesitant about raising the receiver to my ear.

"It's your father. It's important," she said, with an ever-slightly shakiness to her soft tone. I rolled my eyes instantly and sighed in exasperation.

"I have nothing to say to him!" I growled, keeping my voice low so as to not let him know I had the phone. "Tell him I left. I don't want to hear anything he has to say!" I reached the phone back to her, but she shook her head. I sighed again. "Fine."

I slid my hand off the transmitter and held the phone to my ear.

"What do you want now?" I asked, almost shouting, my anger still fresh.

"Son, I have something to tell you," Dad's tone was unsettling. He, too, sounded a little shaky. I glanced at my mom, who had taken a couple steps back and had a look of genuine sadness on her face. She instantly reacted by raising her left hand to cover her mouth and lowered her gaze.

"Dad, what.. is going on?" A sinking feeling began gnawing at the pit of my stomach.

"Do you remember your grandpa, Jack, out in Flowerbud Village? My father?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I remember him. It's only been a few years since he came to visit."

"They're calling the family in. He's dying."

There was a loud clatter as the stereo remote fell and the battery cover popped off and sent the batteries scattering across my bedroom floor. I lowered the phone as the realization of what he was saying impacted me.

"What..?" I choked, turning away from my mother as today's troubles suddenly became trivial in comparison to the bomb that had just been dropped on me. I felt as if my stomach had hit the floor. "When did he.. I didn't know he was..." My voice was starting to crack, and a flood of thoughts and emotions started to tear away at every defense I had built up, my composure now destroyed.

"Look, I'm coming to pick you up. Pack some clothes, we will be gone a few days. ..And damn it, be ready when I get there for once."

I didn't answer him, just letting my arm fall to my side. Eventually the dial tone faintly hummed from the phone but I still stood there in shock. I felt my mom take the phone from my hand, and then when she pulled me into her embrace for a hug, only then did the flood of tears burst free. I cried like a baby in her arms, drawing a comfort from her silence that no words could have granted. The moment was cut short though; the smell of scorching vegetables wafted into my bedroom from the kitchen. We both caught the scent at the same time, pulling away from each other and I rubbed my eyes.

"Shit.." Mom swore, bolting from my room and leaving me to my thoughts. I slowly backed towards my bed and sat hunched over with my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. Instinctively, I reached to the side for the remote without even realizing I had dropped it in the middle of the floor. I was too disconnected from my surroundings to even care. I was descending into the swift rapids that were the racing thoughts in my mind. I was losing my grandpa. Damn it! He was dying right now..

I hadn't been out to Grandpa's farm in 16 years, since my parents split. I had always wanted to go back but with the custody arrangement, Dad never surrendered any of the time he had with me to my grandpa. Mom, on the other hand, chose not to have anything to do with Dad's side of the family whatsoever. Only in recent years did they even begin speaking to each other again. I was too young to understand what had driven my parents apart back then, but it must have been bad because neither of them ever told me. When they separated, Mom had moved as far away from my dad as she could afford.

My grandparents would visit me when I was with Dad for the summer every year until I turned 15. Then without warning, the visits stopped unceremoniously. I learned then that Grandma had passed away just before the start of that year. No one even told me. I was so angry, both at my dad and my mom. Dad had, of course, called but Mom simply told him I wasn't home and didn't give him time to explain.

In retrospect, I believe that is when Mom began to reconcile with my dad. Didn't matter by then. The damage was done. Grandpa never visited me again and life, as they say, went on. After that, Mom found a job here in Sarisburg, about 25 miles from Dad's house in Castorville. Even after I had graduated school, I never went back to Grandpa's farm. It wasn't even that I couldn't go; I guess I didn't want to leave the conveniences I had here behind. That's me. Just some kid spoiled on technology. I always felt guilty for not being at the funeral when Grandma passed too, and I felt that he was disappointed in me and maybe even angry. Just couldn't take that first step..

Now though, it was time to lay the past to rest. I would never again have an opportunity to see or talk to him and I could never forgive myself if I didn't go.

"Shane?"

My mind didn't really register that Mom was calling me, although I did hear her. I didn't even realize my bedroom door was still open until Mom sat beside me and put her arm around me.

"Come on, honey. Supper is ready," she spoke softly, the expression on her face that of sorrow and concern.

"Do you think he's mad at me?" I asked, wiping my misty eyes and placing my hands in my lap.

"Who? Your dad?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, my grandpa. I haven't seen or spoken to him in so long.."

"Of course not, honey.. Don't even think like that," she replied gently, though it did little to reassure me.

"But when Grandma..-" I began, but was immediately interrupted by Mom pressing her finger to my lips.

"Shh.. don't worry about that. Just come eat supper and pack for your trip, and not another word about it. Your grandpa, Jack, loves you very much."

I didn't protest, and Mom kissed me on my left temple before standing and leaving the room. Not before I wiped my forehead with my left wrist, earning a half-smile from her as she left.

Dinner wasn't bad. It was pretty good even. Herb-baked chicken with sauteed veggies and rice. I couldn't even tell the vegetables were overcooked; if there was one area Mom could truly shine, it was the kitchen. She loved watching those cooking shows on television, and she could truly make even a simple recipe into something special.

Mom smiled at me while I ate, a twinkle in her blue eyes. She took great pleasure from others enjoying the fruits of her labor. Or in this case the vegetables, I thought to myself, managing a faint smile of my own. Neither of us spoke during dinner, but the peaceful quiet was pleasant and not at all awkward. The words were there, of course, but we didn't need to speak them out loud. It is hard to explain it, but we just 'got' each other sometimes like this.

"You did great, Mom. It didn't taste _burnt_ at all," I teased, as I gathered up the dirty dishes from our small dinner table.

"Oh hush, you," she scolded, with a mock frown. Then she tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Shouldn't you be getting ready? Your dad will be here in about 15 minutes, you know."

"I guess, he used to be a real asshole when I wasn't ready to walk out the door the instant he honked the horn."

Mom chuckled and mischievously grinned.

"When you were younger, I would always make sure you weren't ready when he got here. It was so easy to push his buttons."

I sighed, shook my head, and laughed.

"I wish _you_ had to ride with him all those times. He always complained that you were doing it on purpose. He was soo busy. Didn't have all day. All that crap. And _you _always told me he was early," I retorted and laughed again, laughing felt good.

"I'm sorry, honey," Mom apologized, still snickering.

"No you're not! Apologize with a straight face!" I accused, in my best over-the-top tone.

Mom burst into giggling and snorted suddenly, sending both of us into a fit of laughter.

"Have you been drinking, Mom?" I asked, catching my breath.

"Many times," she chimed in, still chortling. "Okay, I maaaay have had a little wine while I was cooking."

"A little, Mom..?" I sighed, "What am I going to do with you?"

"You, young man," she began, gesturing towards me with her left index finger, "are going to go to your room and get ready for when your father shows up. Now go. Your father is a very busy man. He doesn't have all day. All that crap," Mom finished with a surprisingly straight face. Then giggled and snorted again the instant she convinced me she wasn't going to laugh.

I laughed to myself as I went to my bedroom to pack. I took a deep breath when I got there; Mom always found a way to brighten my day when I needed it. I shut off my still-muted stereo and grabbed a duffel bag from the closet, glancing back and forth between the clothes on the rack. Indifferently, I began stuffing t-shirts and jeans into it; I dressed pretty basic and casual most of the time. That is what most of my closet was. T-shirts and jeans. I hastily grabbed a pair of black dress pants and a white button-up dress shirt as well, trying not to think about why I would need them. Hell, maybe I wouldn't. Miraculous recovery. Always think positive, right?

That's when I heard the 'trademark Dad arrival.' The sound of a car horn from the parking lot. No, not a quick beep. Dad laid on the horn for a full two seconds. Just long enough to be obnoxious and then a little extra just because it's Dad. I could _hear_ Mom rolling her eyes in the other room. I zipped the bag up after double checking I had enough underwear and socks and slipped my cell phone and wallet into my pockets, making sure I grabbed my ear buds on the way out the bedroom door as well. Long trip, busy man, waiting all day and crap. A lot to tune out, you know?

I made my way to the front door, dropping my bag there. Mom was coming to me so I waited there for her and wrapped my arms around her, sharing a big hug.

"I love you, Mom. I'll see you when I get back."

"I love you too, honey. Now run along before your dad freaks out," Mom smiled at me as she stepped back, moving her hands to my shoulders as she did. She then stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my forehead. "You behave yourself while you're gone, alright?"

"Mom..," I objected halfheartedly, "I'm not ten. I _am_ an adult, remember?"

"You didn't forget your little tantrum already, did you?" she smugly taunted, putting her right hand on her hip like she usually did when she knew she was right.

"Yeah, okay Mom. I gotta go. I'll call you when we're on the way back, alright?"

"I'm serious, stay on your best behavior while you're gone," she reiterated.

"Alright, alright," I relented, turning to grab my bag.

I gave her a glance over my shoulder and a half-wave. She raised her hand to wave back, but the actual waving motion never came. She was starting to miss me already. She was in-between boyfriends right now, and would probably stay in apartment by herself until I returned home. I once suggested taking Dad back and she told me to shut up and go to my room. I wonder what happened between them back then..

When I left the apartment, I saw Dad parked out front in his red Chevy Silverado. He instantly motioned for me to hurry up. Something about being within 500 feet of Mom clearly made Dad anxious. It's not like she is going to jump out and bite him. Hell, if she did he'd probably enjoy it anyway. Ugh never mind. Really don't want to think about that one.. I opened the door to the truck and tossed my bag into the crew cab behind the seat and climbed in. With a good swing, I pulled the door shut behind me and gave Dad a quick glance.

Dad was my height and, like me, he kept his brown hair fairly short. He maintained a well-groomed goatee though, while I was typically clean shaven. He was wearing a brown tweed suit, well most of it. His jacket was in the back seat, under my duffel bag. He was obviously more professional-minded then I was when it came to wardrobe. Something I really didn't envy one bit, preferring the simplicity of my t-shirts and jeans. Which I no longer allowed Dad to shop for ever since that time he brought me a t-shirt that said "I'M WITH STUPID" featuring an upward-pointing arrow.

"What took you so long?" Dad didn't waste any time getting started on me. "Do you have any idea how busy I am? I can't just wait around for you all day you know. I'll have you know..." Dad continued, but I wasn't really paying attention anymore.

This was going to be a long trip. Very long. Without a word of response, I slipped the ear buds in.

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**Closing Note:** I actually had fun writing this. I figured for it to be a chore, and though it took longer to write this than I expected, I hope you're still reading and enjoyed the ride. Tell me what you think.


	2. A Trip Long Overdue

**Author's Note:** Motivation quickly became a precious commodity after living on 4 hours of sleep (or less) per day during the entire writing process of the last chapter.

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**Chapter 2**

A Trip Long Overdue: A New Start -Part 2

Friday, Winter 28

10:33 PM

We had rode for hours, my dad and I. I never kept track of the time, but it felt like we had been on the road forever. Somewhere along the trip I had let the seat back and tried to sleep but with the anxiety the day had brought, my attempt had been futile. And boring. If I was riding with Mom she'd have been better company.

Dad was just a pain to deal with.

The truck was slowing down. I opened my eyes, and saw a motel to our left. Looked like we were stopping for the night. It was an L-shaped building, with the broad side parallel to the road and the short side protruding towards it. As Dad pulled into the parking lot, I glanced up at an illuminated sign that read 'Roadside Motel' with a neon vacancy sign lit underneath. Very. Original.

There were only two other vehicles parked there, and neither were from this decade. Not even the decade before either. Judging by the faded, cracked, and chipped paint on the brown doors and tan walls, this motel hadn't seen fresh paint in the past two decades either. You picked a winner, Dad. A real winner.

I lurched forward a little in my seat. Dad had pulled into the parking space a little too quickly and braked harder than necessary to stop. It was very typical of him, true, but I was distracted by his superb choice of lodging and didn't brace myself at all.

"Looks like you're awake now," Dad mused, "We still have a lot of road ahead so we're staying the night and getting an early start tomorrow."

"We're staying _here_?" I scoffed. "In the motel forgotten by time?"

"When you buy the gas and pay for the room we'll stay wherever you want. Until then, we're doing things my way. Understood?"

I knew better than to answer. It was a lie anyway. Dad does what Dad wants. Whether or not he was paying was irrelevant. In any case Dad took my silence as acceptance, which was just as well because repeating himself would have worsened my already bad mood. I was at my limit for interaction with Dad today.

Dad walked across the parking lot to the small office and for lack of anywhere better to go, I followed, donning a jacket as I walked. I tucked my phone and ear buds into my pocket, sure that they would be drowning my dad out again before the night was through. It was hard to imagine the days of my youth when it had actually been fun to spend time with him. Seemed like the older I got, the more of a pain he became. Never made sense, but it is what it is.

Once inside the office, I was just as unimpressed as I had been with the exterior. It seemed to be upholstered with the cheapest and thinnest carpet known to mankind. It was a dingy brown and seemed to be as thin as notebook paper. The wallpaper was faded yellow and patterned with lighter yellow stripes that may have once been white when I was born. The windows were adorned with horribly-faded green gingham curtains that were just as yellowed as the wallpaper.

There were minimal furnishings in the room as well. A bare bones counter, a couple basic wood chairs along the wall, a simple end table in the corner with a couple uninteresting magazines. Dirty windows, dirty walls. To top it off, the manager behind the counter was reading a 'dirty' magazine. He was an older man, squat and bald, and despite a small bell on the door announcing our entry, he hadn't looked up from the magazine yet as far as I could tell. That attitude fit the bill, though. Nothing I had seen so far had struck me as pleasant or memorable. Evidently this was just a place that if you absolutely had to stay, you left as soon as possible afterward.

Ding! Dad rang a tarnished metal push-bell on the counter. The manager emitted a disgruntled sound that fell somewhere in between a grunt and a groan, but still didn't look up at us.

"Whaddayawant?" the man asked, condensing the entire question into a single word. It bothered me a little, but didn't seem to phase Dad.

"I need a room," Dad stoically announced, not seeming to notice or care about the state of this motel.

"For tha night or by tha hour?" he quickly replied without even a glance up.

"..What do you mean, 'by the hour'?" I chimed in, liking this place even less by the second though admittedly, disliking this place more than I already did seemed a challenge in itself.

"What I mean," the short buffoon answered, closing the magazine over his index finger and placing both hands on the counter before looking up at me, "..is 'For tha night or by tha hour'. Fitty bucks for tha night or fitteen an hour. Cash in advance. We clear?"

"Why would we rent a room by the..." As I heard myself asking, the answer I didn't want to hear dawned on me. "Hey! We just need a place to sleep you sicko! That is my dad!"

"Look, it doesn't matter t' me who ya are or whatcha do in tha room after ya pay. Ya want tha room or not?"

By now, Dad had placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed to the point of discomfort, his way of telling me to shut up. I glanced sidelong to him expectantly, hoping this filthy man would be the final straw and we could leave. No such luck.

"For the night," Dad answered, still without even a glance in my direction, thwarting my silent protest. Dad produced two 20's and three 5's from his wallet and placed them on the counter. Frustrated, I left the office and waited outside. I sighed sharply, watching with disinterest as my breath made a cloud in the icy winter air. There would be no dissuading my dad from this point on so I might as well get it over with and hope the room is better than what everything so far led me to believe.

It wasn't. A musty smell hung in the air when Dad opened the door and a plainly visible layer of dust covered every surface. The floor featured the same paper-carpet as the office and was somehow dirtier, though it didn't surprise me. The room could have been on fire and it wouldn't have surprised me at this point. In fact, I think fire wold have been an improvement. This was where I would be attempting to sleep tonight, though, so it was better to hope the room didn't catch fire for the time being.

The mattress was hard. I could feel the coiled springs through whatever padding had once covered them. I didn't have the most comfortable mattress back home, but I couldn't imagine a more uncomfortable mattress than this one. It reminded me of those shows I had seen on television where people had laid on a bed of pins and needles and walked on burning coals. I wondered how much more unpleasant the pins and needles could have been in comparison, remembering the person in the show hadn't seemed any less comfortable than if he had been laying on a plush bed fit for a king. I didn't know if I'd even manage to fall asleep at all on this bed, because if the cheap mattress wasn't bad enough, Dad was already snoring. Great.

Saturday, Winter 29

I did fall asleep eventually. I must have. I dreamed of my grandpa's farm. The crops were enormous, even the smallest of them were at least ten feet tall. The field seemed to go on forever, but it wasn't only the crops that were huge. I found myself confronted with a cow that must have at least been a hundred feet tall. I awoke in the morning after being cornered by this cowzilla, remembering nothing of the dream except that everything had been ridiculously huge.

I made a strategic decision not to discuss my dream with Dad. It seemed like a silly dream anyway and I knew better than to give him any ammunition to torment me with. Dad was already awake and getting ready to leave, and unless I wanted him pestering me, I had best be doing the same. I checked my phone for the time, it was 7:34. I groaned silently to myself. I wasn't much of an early riser, admittedly. Sliding over to the edge of the bed, I let my legs drop to the floor as I sat up. I yawned like a champion and glanced around. My dad noticed and gestured towards the bathroom at the back of the room.

"Shower's free. Time to get moving-"

"Yeah and you're a busy man. I get it."

I rolled my eyes and stood up. I trusted the bathroom less than I had trusted the rest of the room, but I knew there was no other way for me to wash the smell of that bed off of me. After my morning constitutional, I stepped into the shower. After a couple of minutes of warm water that never quite became hot, the temperature dropped sharply and I rushed to finish as the water threatened to turn to ice. Should have expected that, really. I dressed myself in a dark blue sweatshirt and put my jeans back on, you can wear jeans forever after all. After the dismal shower, Dad was already ready to leave. I was happy to oblige him. It had literally been my only goal since we arrived here and it couldn't happen soon enough.

Back on the road again, we went through a drive-thru for a breakfast of biscuits at a fast food restaurant I didn't recognize or care to remember the name of. The biscuits were rather greasy but they tasted good, with sausage and egg sandwiched in the middle. I spent the rest of the morning chatting with friends through text messages on my phone, paying no attention to where we were going. The morning passed by without any further incident save for seemingly endless interstate driving.

The afternoon was punctuated by little aside from occasional rest area bathroom breaks and another drive-thru excursion. Burgers and fries. Soda. The interstate driving went on and on. I didn't feel any closer to our destination than I had felt at breakfast, but we certainly had to be making some kind of headway towards it. Feeling drowsy from my early start and poor sleep the night before, I decided a nap was in order. It took a bit of time, but I did manage to nap on and off throughout the afternoon and evening. It was nearly dark outside when we stopped for supper. More drive-thru burger goodness. The air was different though. I could smell the ocean. Didn't see it anywhere, but I smelled it. It wasn't much longer on the road that we finally stopped. We were parked in front of a large building and to the side of it was endless water stretching back as far as I could see. The ocean, at last.

I stepped out of the truck, inhaling the strong scent of the ocean breeze. It was the only thing relaxing about this trip so far. Stretching my arms and legs from being cooped up in the truck so long, I took a long look at the ocean. Somewhat confused by us being here, I glanced back to Dad. He had went the other direction without a word to me, and it was up to me to catch up with him. We were headed towards a brick building with a long dock extending behind it into the ocean.

"What gives, Dad? You didn't tell me we were going to the beach."

Dad looked back at me with one of those glances reserved for when I said something he considered to be stupid, but didn't reflect that in his response.

"You don't remember the boat rides? You were pretty young though, guess it makes sense."

"Boat rides?" I raised an eyebrow. One would think that to be an important detail to remember for a kid, but it didn't ring a bell.

"Yes, boat rides. Your grandpa lives overseas, remember?" Dad continued, speaking as if this was all common knowledge. It probably should be, but it wasn't.

"Really? I never knew.. well I mean.. I must have at some point, but.."

"You'll be riding an overnight ferry across the ocean. A man from the village will be giving you a ride to the farm when you get off."

"Wait a sec. What do you mean by that? Aren't you going too?" Dad couldn't be abandoning this trip. It was his father dying over there. I could feel anger welling up in me.

"I have things to handle in the city here. I'll be there tomorrow." It was typical of Dad to give such a blatantly vague explanation and expect me to just shrug it off.

I did just that. It wasn't the first time Dad had flaked on me. I didn't imagine it would be the last. Dad always seemed to know what to do when I wasn't mad at him to correct the situation. I'll hand him that one. Dad took care of all the arrangements, and soon enough I found myself floating out to sea aboard an old ferry. It wasn't the best seafaring vessel I could imagine for this trip, but at least it wasn't that horrid motel I spent the previous night in.

I spent the rest of the evening gazing out at the ocean. It was a clear night, and the moonlight reflected beautifully off the surface of the water. Perfect conditions for my quiet introspection. My dad and I had both avoided the subject of Grandpa's health the entire trip, and I was beginning to regret not asking questions. It was too late to ask now. My phone had died hours earlier in the truck, and I doubted I would still have signal out at sea like this. I was already questioning whether or not Grandpa would even be alive when I arrived, and I couldn't dissuade myself of the possibility that he had already died.

Such a long trip. No wonder my parents stopped taking me to the farm. Still, I'd have loved a chance to go back under better circumstances. It was with a heavy heart that I finally retired to the room provided to me by the ferry crew. Small room, simple, with nothing but a bed and a nightstand. Still better than last night's lodgings though. At least the mattress was more comfortable. My road-weariness made the transition into sleep go much quicker this time. The gentle rocking of the ferry probably helped. I hadn't thought about it yet at this point, but I was pretty happy the next day when I realized I had not once felt seasick during the entire ferry ride.

It had been a rough day, yesterday had been a rough day as well. It was turning into a rough weekend. As I slept, though, the worries were swept away and tomorrow is another day.

* * *

**Closing note: **Wasn't sure I'd ever get this chapter finished. I burned out pretty hard on writing halfway through, and didn't write for nearly a year. I have mixed feelings with this chapter but it is what it is. Late.


	3. Tales of Derring-do on the High Seas

**Author's Note:** I have revitalized my writing spirit as of late and though I have yet to write a single word of the 3rd chapter at this point, I am enthusiastic about starting it, and that is a very good sign. I forced myself into finishing the second chapter after burning out extremely hard between leaving the motel office and actually entering the motel room. I feel that my writing degraded from that point on, but I hope to correct that in time. Hopefully I can get some momentum and push on through this chapter with no hiccups.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Tales of Derring-do on the High Seas: A New Start -Part 3

Sunday, Winter 30

8:15 AM

There was unsurprisingly little to do aboard the ferry with my only source of electronic entertainment suffering from a lack of battery life. I had tried to drift into that little slice of unreality comprised of not-quite-asleep-but-not-really-awake dreaming until the realization that I was still at sea gripped my mind and refused to let go. So, I was up. Up and about. I checked my bag for a phone charger again, then every pocket of every garment I had touched since I left the house. No luck. I couldn't remember if I had even grabbed it on my way out of my bedroom. Probably didn't. Typical of me. I always forget something when I pack. It's not always the same thing, but it always comes back to bite me at the first opportunity. This time, it was my phone charger. Last time, it had been underwear. The time before, swimming trunks.

The charger was a lost cause, and thus any hope of musical diversion was lost as well. In lieu of electronics, I settled for good, old-fashioned adventure. I didn't have the opportunity to be a sea-faring buccaneer everyday, after all. Fashioning one of my t-shirts into a makeshift bandanna, I dressed the part to the best of my resources and strode boldly out of the cabin and onto the starboard deck of the ferry. There were no other passengers around in the immediate area, and the scant crew seemed to pay no mind as they saw to the operation of the ferry. This simply wouldn't do, not at all. So, with as much bluster as I could muster, I thrust my arm forward, as if raising a sword, and declared myself.

"I, Dread Captain Righty McLeft, hereby commandeer this vessel ye salty dogs! Lead me to yer provisions lest ye be walkin' the plank!"

The suddenness and loudness caused one of crewmen to turn with a start. Upon realizing what I had said and noticing my posturing and makeshift bandanna, he laughed, shook his head, and turned back to his duties. Oh well. I didn't expect to be taken seriously anyway, but I really was hungry. More exploration was necessary, and more exploring I did. For the most part, the doors were marked to identify what lay beyond them. I continued my adventure along the starboard deck, finding doors that forbade entry to passengers. My newly proclaimed status as Dread Captain tempted me to ignore the warnings, but I displayed proper restraint. If my phone wasn't dead, I'd most likely have taken a picture of rebellious defiance, but for now I simply ignored the doors I wasn't supposed to open and continued past a pair of doors leading to restrooms. On second thought though, a wise man once said to never pass up a bathroom. So I didn't.

After finishing up in the restroom, I headed back along the starboard deck aft-wards, assuming if the lodging cabin was to the fore, maybe there would be a social area or, dare I hope, a small restaurant area further back. I began to encounter passengers as I strode along seeking to plunder yon galley. Men and women of various ages. An older man in polo shirt propping himself against the handrail casually glanced my way as I passed before looking back out to the waves. A couple of teenage girls in pink and blue hoodies exchanged inane gossip on a bench. A woman older than my mother carried a fussy child towards the restrooms. More crewmen hustled and bustled about. Nothing really caught my interest.

Finally, I found what I was looking for. There, right beyond large double-doors on the aft cabin, was my goal. I found myself in a large room filled mostly with sparsely occupied tables, a large wooden bar with a row of stools. The décor was mainly bare wood and held to a typical sailor theme. The walls sported pictures of various sea vessels, and bits and baubles representing the sailing trade. An antique ship's wheel was mounted on the wall behind the bar, various trophy fish were spread around the walls as well. The atmosphere was punctuated with indistinct chatter and the smell of coffee, eggs, and bacon was heavy and inviting. I decided to sit at the bar, not needing a whole table to myself.

A middle-aged waitress with salt-and-pepper graying hair approached behind the bar as I took my seat, offering a warm smile and placing a menu in front of me. A quick glance at her name tag told me her name was Debra.

"Good morning!" she beamed, taking a tiny glance at the shirt-bandanna wrapped around my head. "Can I get you some coffee?"

I wasn't quite finished with my hi-jinx though.

"Dread Captain Righty McLeft demands provisions!" I started, with a more appropriate subdued tone. My 'indoors' voice, if you will.

"Oh? Dread Captain Righty McLeft?" she chuckled in reply. "Well, by all means, let him know he is welcome to come in for breakfast as well."

I laughed a little as well. "Coffee would be amazing right now."

"Do you know what a pirate's favorite letter is?" The woman asked, producing a clean mug from under the bar and turned away to grab a coffee pot from the counter.

"I would have to say arrrrrrrrr!" I replied.

"Not a bad guess, but a pirate's true love tis the C," she answered, as she filled the coffee mug.

"I guess you got me there," I laughed. "I'll have to remember that one. Do you know how to make a pirate angry?" I fired back then glanced over the menu in front of me.

The waitress thought for a second. "Take his rum away?"

"Nope!" I grinned. "Take away the letter P."

She frowned. "Oh.. irate, I get it," she laughed lightly and tossed another back. "How did the pirate become boxing champion?"

"Uh, I dunno," I shrugged.

"The other boxers were afraid of his right hook," she answered.

I chuckled, adding some sugar to my coffee. "I like it."

"Have you decided what you would like, hon?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like an order of pancakes with a side of eggs and bacon." The smell of bacon cooking was making me hungrier by the second.

"Sure thing, coming right up," she replied with the same warm smile, jotting the order down on a small pad and relaying it to the cook in the back. "What brings a young man like yourself out here?"

"Oh," I began thoughtfully, "I'm visiting my grandfather."

"Your grandfather?" she asked, showing interest in the subject.

"Yeah, my grandpa Jack owns a farm out in some rural community," I continued. "I used to go visit his farm when I was a kid, but now that his health is failing my dad and I are going for a visit."

"Jack?" she pondered. "Jack Parker by any chance?"

Confusion worked its way into my expression. "Yes, that's his name.. do you know him?"

"He would ride this ferry every year and have breakfast here the same as you are doing now," she smiled. "He was charming fellow, but I haven't seen him or his wife in ages. That means you must be… was it Shane?"

"Guilty as charged," I answered, with just a sense of awkwardness at the unexpected revelation.

"You favor him a bit, hon, though I must say, your grandpa never pulled the pirate routine."

I grinned sheepishly and sipped my coffee. "When you have an opportunity to be a pirate for a day, you should always take it."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," she replied with a wink. "Just a minute dear, I'll be back."

The waitress grabbed a prepared order and the coffee pot and sauntered off to a table on the other side of the restaurant. I continued to sip the hot beverage in my mug as I mulled the conversation over in my head. She knew my grandpa well enough to know of me. Guess she's worked here for long time. It was certainly unexpected though. She seemed quite the social type though, pretty easy to talk to. Reminded me of a teacher I had in school. When she returned from her other customers, she placed a plate in front of me with a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and three strips of bacon. She also set to the side two flavors of syrup and a set of silverware wrapped in a napkin. I could hardly wait to dig in and it was all I could do to not tear into it like a wild animal.

Our conversation continued on through my breakfast. She spoke of her husband who was a member of the crew on the ferry, and I talked about my parents. The subject shifted to her children, one was a man older than me and the other was a teenage girl that had just graduated high school and went away to college. Next I discussed how my dad had basically dumped me on the ferry alone and went the other way. Then the subject went back to pirates. By then I had finished my breakfast and put away a second cup of coffee. It seemed business was picking up as more customers were coming in, so I paid for my breakfast and had just enough left for a nice tip, which Debra more than earned. I politely thanked her and she wished me luck, then it was back outside for me.

Off in the distance I could see land. I supposed that would mean the end for Dread Captain Righty McLeft. Back to being a landlubber once more. That was okay, I was over the whole pirate shtick anyway. I left the shirt bandanna on though. Just because. The remainder of the trip was completely uneventful. Just enjoying the view and thinking. Nothing wrong with that at all. Guess I have a bit of an old soul sometimes. Not all the time, mind you.

After the ferry docked at the port (I wish I had paid attention to the name of this city) sure enough there was a man waiting for me. He was at least close to my dad's age but was he ever muscular. I silently made a mental note not to piss this guy off. Sheesh. The man stood there in a black tank top and well-worn jeans. He had basically a spiked hairdo cropped off into a flattop along with a barely-there mustache. He held up a sign with my name spelled out in large letters but never looked my way at all until he noticed me approaching.

"Shane?" he asked as I approached. I nodded and he lowered the sign. "David called the Mayor and arranged for me to give you ride to the village."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" I began, trying to hide my annoyance. "Dad dumped me on boat. He says he will be arriving today too. Never know with him though."

"I wouldn't worry about him too much. I'm pretty used to him," the man confided, as we walked our way across a parking lot towards an old rust-bucket of a pick-up truck with a flatbed lined with wooden side-rails.

"Used to my dad? How so?" I inquired, hoping to pry a little more out of him.

"I handle all the shipping for the village and haul everything out here to the port. That's where your dad's company comes in. We talk to each other frequently."

"Really? Dad has been working with Grandpa's farm all this time and never told me?" I was dumbfounded. I had never shown any interest in the finer details of his occupation. Maybe I should have.

"Of course, it's only fair to say that there hasn't been much of anything shipped from that farm in years. Not since Jack sold the livestock." The burly man rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and furrowed his brow, as if uncomfortable with the subject.

"Years..?" How long had Grandpa been sick? I felt an emptiness gnawing at the pit of my stomach. I had to be the worst grandson in the world. I had blamed all of this on my parents, but I had settled for their excuses easily enough myself. "What happened?"

"When your grandmother took ill, Jack expended every resource he had for her treatment. He stopped caring for the farm to care for her and when she passed, she took the spirit of the farm with her. He fell ill and never recovered." He still seemed uncomfortable, as if he were the wrong person to be telling me this.

I, only the other hand, felt two inches tall. Maybe there wouldn't have been anything I could have done, but the point was that I had never actually tried to do anything at all. I walked around to the right side of the truck, moping and feeling downcast.

"So kid, are you driving us back to the village?" the man called to me with an amused tone.

I stopped and glanced up to the window of the truck, confused to find the steering wheel was on the right instead of the left.

"Uh, well… You know.. I thought I might take it for a quick spin," I joked, trying to fake myself out of the melancholy rut I had allowed myself to slip down into. "Sorry. The wheel is on the other side back home."

"You're alright, kid." The man laughed heartily and gave me a hard pat on the back. I wasn't expecting quite so much force behind it and staggered forward, drawing a few more chuckles from him. I rubbed the back of my head and tried smile through the embarrassment, but finally just sighed to myself instead. I resigned myself to getting in on the other side of the truck, and the man cranked the truck. Or at least he tried. The engine sputtered a while but refused to crank. I glanced over with growing concern over the idea of becoming stuck here. "C'mon honey, don't do this today," he pleaded, and tried the key again. The engine sputtered once more and finally sprang to life, to my relief and his joy.

"So, you have me at a disadvantage, my good sir. I do believe I never caught your name," I poured out my best southern gentleman accent (it's terrible, even though it sounds passably genuine.)

"Ah well shucks, kid. Name's Zack," he replied, reaching his hand over for a handshake. I expected it to be a little more forceful than necessary, just like the pat on the back, and it was. Didn't catch me off guard at least.

"How far is it to Flower Bud Village from here?" I asked, ready to be done with all the traveling.

"I reckon it'll be about an hour and a half, maybe a little longer. You've had quite a trip already, haven't you?"

"I have a few choice words for it," I answered, not too terribly eager for such a long return trip. I especially dreaded the thought of another long day on the road with Dad.

"Yeah?" Zack chuckled. "This will be over before ya know it."

"I guess so. What's another hour or two anyway, right?"

"That's the spirit, kid." The musclebound man gave me a pat on the shoulder and we set off on our way.

"So, since we have a bit of time, would you mind telling me more about my grandpa?"

"Sure thing. Where do I start..? Well.. back when I was your age..." Zack led into his story as we began the final stretch of my journey to Flower Bud Village. I hoped it wouldn't be too late when we got there. I was so close. After so many years, I was so close. Wait for me, Grandpa. I'll be there soon.

* * *

**Closing Note:** I didn't expect to pump this chapter out so fast, but here it is. I really surprised myself. I hope I can get the 4th chapter out soon too. Fingers crossed. I blame the pirate shenanigans, and the Blackwater Park album by Opeth.


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